


falling, catching

by stravaganza



Series: Kingtober 2k18 [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: (this is related to the background orgies), Anal Fingering, Angry Sex, Background Orgies, Begging, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Don't Try This At Home, Eyes Wide Shut Themed Party, Feelings, Fluff, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, I feel it may be necessary to clarify that they do not take part to any actual orgy, Kissing, Lancelot is very fit, Love Bites, M/M, Masks, Misunderstandings, Nipple Play, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Percival loves it, Pre-Kingsman: The Secret Service, Public Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Smut, because Percival is grouchy, re: feelings, sass in spades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16083200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stravaganza/pseuds/stravaganza
Summary: Fill for Kinktober 2018 day 1: "Masks", and day 2: "Begging"“You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?” Percival hissed at his colleague, narrowing his eyes.“Planning? No. Hoping for? Mmh, no, I can’t say I was doing that, either,” Lancelot replied in that infuriating way of his. Percival could have strangled him. “If it were for me, our first time would be on silk sheets, after a candlelit dinner in a very romantic restaurant. Or in my home, since I would be far too impatient to have you in my lap afterwards to wait all the way through a taxi ride.”Scratch could. Percivalwouldhave strangled the man, if they weren’t required to work together.Lancelot must have noticed the daggers glared his way, because he raised a placating hand and promised, “An orgy is definitely not how I was planning on bedding you.”





	1. give a man a mask and he will tell the truth

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I have a few dozen projects and stories I should be working on, that should have priority on Kinktober. But I figured it would be a good chance to try and train myself to write more and more consistently, and if in the meantime I produce lots and lots of porn fics no one would blame, right?
> 
> Except Percilot has temporarily hijacked my life, and since I had never written them before they demanded to be fleshed out more than I would have liked - and here we are, with a _long ass_ fic instead of the two one shots I had planned. I can only hope that doesn't set the tone and that the next fills will be quicker, or Kinktober may as well kill me.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can see Percival and Lancelot's masks [here](http://i.ebayimg.com/images/i/161534176291-0-1/s-l1000.jpg) and [here](https://www.justposhmasks.com/media/catalog/product/5/8/58_-_piena_1.jpg) (although you should imagine Lancelot's feathers as peacock feathers).

_“I despise Stanley Kubrick.”_

“Yes, Galahad, you’ve mentioned.”

“Lucky for you that you’re not taking part to this mission, then, isn’t it?”

_“Very lucky.”_

There was a noise like static over the comms, a thud followed by a soft grunt, and then Merlin’s voice came over, somewhat muffled.

_“I said you could assist me, Harry, but that means you have to behave! And behaving means no sass, no feet on my console, and no eating crisps on my commands!”_

_“You didn’t have to knock my bad leg off quite so roughly! You know I need to keep it elevated!”_

Percival took a deep breath and let it out through his nose in a slow exhale. On the other side of the room, Lancelot’s eyes danced with amusement as they met his own, and Percival took a sip of his champagne, turning his back on his colleague and heading for the table laid with a veritable buffet.

 _“If you don’t want me to break that cast over your head or kick you back to the medical wing, you’re going to_ behave _Galahad!”_

Percival cleared his throat. “If you’re quite finished…” he murmured into the microphone hidden beneath his lapel, “I’m pretty sure I saw the mark heading upstairs.”

“I’ve seen his wife, as well, but she was… quite preoccupied with a few of the guests,” Lancelot chimed in from the other side of the room. “She headed to one of the rooms here on this floor.”

 _“From our intel it would seem that the data is in the mark’s bedroom,”_ Merlin said, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the keyboard a constant undertone to his words.

“The room where said mark is probably having an orgy, you mean?” Lancelot pointed out casually, and Percival grit his teeth in irritation.

“Are there any other ways to access the data remotely, or a way to evacuate the room?” Percival inquired, staring down at a salmon canape with a frown, any appetite he might have had gone.

_“Negative. The data is in a thumb drive in his bedside table, if I were to activate the fire alarm he would just grab it before running for his life.”_

“Then how are we supposed to infiltrate their room?”

“I think I have a plan,” Lancelot said, sounding like the cat who got the cream.

Of course.

* * *

Percival had three more flutes of champagne before heading upstairs, but when he found himself face to face with Lancelot he realised that it still wasn’t enough.

“Are you ready, my dear?” the man asked, his green eyes shining under his Venetian style mask. The silk covered half of his face but left his grinning mouth uncovered, a beautiful set of peacock feathers fanning out all around the mask, making him look like an idiot. An idiot who had stuck his head in a peacock’s arse.

Percival had chosen a far more sober and practical mask. It covered one quarter of his face, one half curving around one eye and down to his cheek while the other followed the arch of his eyebrow and then stopped, leaving his left eye an unobstructed field of view. Unlike Lancelot, who was probably nearly blind in that _thing_ , its garish blues and greens and purples clashing terribly with Percival’s muted blacks, golds and whites, with delicate musical notes inscribed along his forehead and cheek.

“You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?” Percival hissed at his colleague, narrowing his eyes.

“Planning? No. Hoping for? Mmh, no, I can’t say I was doing that, either,” Lancelot replied in that infuriating way of his. Percival could have strangled him. “If it were for me, our first time would be on silk sheets, after a candlelit dinner in a very romantic restaurant. Or in my home, since I would be far too impatient to have you in my lap afterwards to wait all the way through a taxi ride.”

Scratch could. Percival _would_ have strangled the man, if they hadn't been required to work together.

Lancelot must have noticed the daggers glared his way, because he raised a placating hand and promised, “An orgy is definitely not how was planning on bedding you.”

“But you knew it wasn’t going to happen if it weren’t mission related.”

Lancelot looked at him for a few moments, then took a deep breath and let it out.

“I can assure you, Alastair, that I care about you and I respect you far more than you seem to think. I wouldn’t be so insistent if I weren’t sure you felt at least a tiny bit of attraction towards me.”

The use of his first name together with those words had Percival bristling, and he shoved Lancelot against the wall behind the man’s back, besides the mark’s bedroom door.

He stared at the man long and hard for a few moments, the silence between them tense, but before he could think of an appropriate retort to deny his words, Lancelot was speaking again.

“You can still just join the orgy and have sex with a roomful of people rather than with just one man who is very much interested in you.”

And damn the man for being right.

“Shut up,” was the last thing Percival growled before crushing their lips together.

They may as well get on with the plan.

Percival pretended not to hear Lancelot’s enthusiastic moan as he pressed his tongue in the man’s mouth, stroking his teeth and completely dominating the kiss. Lancelot seemed content to let him take charge, his arms lazily slung around his neck to keep him close, and Percival found it all to easy to run his hand along the wall until he found the door handle.

The moment he flung the door open, Percival’s ears were assaulted by the wet noises of a group of people having sex, and he couldn’t help but shudder a bit in disgust. Lancelot seemed to notice, because he pressed their bodies closer and rocked his hips right against Percival’s, causing the man to grunt and push him inside the room.

The plan was to stumble inside, pretending to be a couple looking for a private spot, but when they broke the kiss to look around in faux surprise they found that nobody was paying them any mind, busy as they were with their own pleasure.

Percival couldn’t help but stare at the almost grotesque tangle of bodies writhing on the bed, but snapped back to attention when he felt Lancelot’s teeth closing around his earlobe and tugging. “Al…”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, pushing the man towards the bed.

It was easily the biggest bed he had ever seen, large enough to easily accommodate at least five people sleeping on it and, with the contortionist act going on on top of it, at least ten people fucking on it.

There definitely wasn’t enough space for them to join the mix, for which Percival was grateful. It gave him an excuse to push Lancelot towards some fallen pillows by the side of the bed, near the nightstand, close to their target.

Whoever their mark was, impossible to locate in that mass of limbs, he didn’t seem concerned by their presence.

Percival pushed Lancelot down until the man was sprawled lewdly on the pillows, then straddled his hips and pinned his hands down on the floor.

“You’re insufferable,” he hissed, only to see that full mouth quirking in amusement.

“You like it,” was Lancelot’s retort, and before Percival could reply their positions were being reverted with a strong push of Lancelot’s hips, the man now straddling him.

“I don’t,” Percival hissed as he looked up at Lancelot. He still reached up for him though, grabbing onto what he thought were his hair and tugging him down - only to find himself holding a handful of feathers.

“Don’t ruin my mask!” Lancelot gasped, and Percival growled in irritation. He cupped the back of Lancelot’s neck this time, and sure of his purchase he pulled the man down to kiss him hard.

Their teeth clinked painfully, but Percival couldn’t care less about the pain, not when he had finally found the perfect way to shut the insufferable ponce up. Percival found that shoving his tongue in the other man’s mouth or biting his bottom lip hard both had the same outcome, except one elicited much filthier moans from Lancelot.

It was impossible to deny the way his cock filled up at those sounds, and Percival thrust his hips up against Lancelot’s arse, perched right over his crotch.

“F-fuck… lube,” Lancelot groaned, reaching for the bedside table. He shoved the bottom drawer open, knowing full well that it was the least likely to hold what he was looking for, and Percival knew his colleague was more focused on their mission that he seemed. That didn’t stop him from leaning up to bite down on Lancelot’s bared neck, hard. The arm that was holding Lancelot up buckled dangerously, but he managed to keep himself up with a broken moan.

Lancelot rummaged through both drawers and while he took care of that, Percival took care of keeping up the act. He cupped Lancelot’s arse with his hands, kneading the firm flesh he could feel flexing under the fabric of the man’s trousers, and then he raised a hand and slapped Lancelot’s right cheek, hard, making the man moan lewdly once more.

Before he could stop himself, Percival was doing it again and again, feeling his frustration towards Lancelot grow. That pompous bastard, that insufferable ponce, that _bloody tempting_ …

There was a flutter of feathers, and then Lancelot was pressing his lips against Percival’s again, moaning hungrily against his mouth. Their masks shifted as their noses bumped into each other, and there were hands at Percival’s belt. Lancelot tugged on the strip of leather, freeing it from the buckle just enough so that he could pull at the buttons of Percival’s slacks.

“Fuck!”

“Ah, found my prize,” Lancelot panted against Percival’s lips. His mouth was curved in an infuriating smirk that no man could have resisted from biting off his face, and the resulting moan sent a spike of arousal down Percival’s spine.

Before Lancelot could pull his growing erection out of his pants, Percival reached for the man’s flies, pulling them open and tugging the flaps of fabric as far down as they would get with the man straddling his hips. He palmed Lancelot through his pants, and the man gasped, managing to sound almost breathless.

Percival sat up, pressing his mouth against Lancelot’s ear.

“Do you have it?” he breathed, feeling Lancelot shudder against him.

“Not yet.” Lancelot spread one of his large hands on Percival’s chest and pushed him down as if he weighed nothing, a terribly enticing reminder of how strong the man was under his ridiculous tweed suits.

“Hurry!” Percival hissed. Lancelot gave that infuriating sly smirk he always seemed to wear around Percival.

“Mmh, impatient,” he murmured in that gravelly voice of his, made deeper still by his arousal. Percival wanted to rip the stupid mask off his face, to see the flush of sex colouring Lancelot’s cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes without the shadows it cast in the dimly lit room.

“The sooner you’re done, the sooner I’ll fuck you,” Percival rumbled, and that seemed to be just what Lancelot had been waiting to hear. He leaned down and pressed their lips together again, more an exchange of damp breath than an actual kiss, and then he was back to the drawers, searching them with single minded purpose until he found a bottle of lube and a condom.

Percival’s nose twitched in disapproval. He didn’t like the idea of having a full intercourse in a room full of literally fucking strangers. While Lancelot was enough to distract him from the background noise of broken voices and squelching orifices, the situation was still less than ideal.

However Lancelot had seemed to catch that, because he winked at Percival and gave yet another infuriating smile. And, for better and for worse, Percival trusted the man. They were both Kingsman agents, after all.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” the man rumbled, leaning down to press their bodies together shoulders to hips, his curved lips ghosting over the line of Percival’s jaw.

“Just… hurry,” Percival said through a shiver, his eyes falling closed.

There was the sound of a cap being opened near his ear, and after a few moments Lancelot moaned softly against his ear, making him swallow his tongue.

“Are you-?” Percival asked intelligently.

“God, yes,” was Lancelot’s purred reply.

“You need-?” he hesitated.

“Mmh, no, just touch me.”

That didn’t need repeating. Percival ran his hands down the curve of Lancelot’s spine, feeling the solid muscles and the ridges of his bones there, massaging him through the ruffled shirt he was still wearing, as ridiculous then as it had been the first moment Percival had seen it. But the silk felt nice under his hands, and when he moved them lower it was easy to let the fabric slip out from Lancelot’s loose slacks, open at the front and already full.

“This seat taken?” Percival quipped as his hands slid inside Lancelot’s trousers and cupped his arse, squeezing on the firm muscles until the man choked on his reply.

“It- ah, god- it has your name on it, my dear,” Lancelot managed to say once he had found his words again, and Percival scoffed.

“ _Slut_ ,” he said through gritted teeth, spreading Lancelot’s arse cheeks and making the man howl.

“Oh, fuck, yes!” he whimpered, reaching for the bottle to get more lube.

Percival let his finger wander, dipping the very tip between Lancelot’s cheeks and feeling the hot, wet skin there. When he found his hole, it fluttered against the pad of his finger, and when Percival changed angles it sucked him in eagerly to the first knuckle. Lancelot shuddered again, but he reached back and batted his hand away.

“No touchy,” he panted, his voice wrecked, and if on a normal day he sounded like he had just sucked someone’s cock for hours, in that moment he sounded like he had screamed himself hoarse while being fucked against a wall.

The mental image was almost too pretty for him to bear, and Percival closed his eyes, as if to banish it from his mind. There was a faint sound like ripping paper and when he looked again, Lancelot was sitting up, the tip of his cock peeking out from over the elastic band of his underwear, and Percival found his mouth watering.

He was reminded he had hands when he felt Lancelot’s fingers nudging against his own, and he pulled them back, leaving the man to his ministrations. Just like he had stroked Lancelot’s back earlier, he now ran his hands up the man’s stomach and chest, feeling the outline of his muscles under his fingertips.

Percival could be a very greedy man at times; he wanted to see. So, he grabbed the two halves of Lancelot’s ridiculous shirt and ripped them apart, the buttons flying everywhere. He wasn’t sure whether Lancelot’s gasp was of arousal at the show of strength or of indignation at the ruined garment, but Percival couldn’t care less. That was what he got for going into a mission with non-regulatory clothing.

That didn’t seem to put a damper on Lancelot’s ministrations, though, and he kept moaning around his own fingers, eyes closed and head thrown back.

“Are you going to let me fuck you?” Percival demanded to know, quite incredulous. Lancelot had been pushing to get him into bed for months, and now that they were actually having sex he was just going to tease him? If it was retaliation for all of Percival’s rejections…

“Later,” Lancelot said, sounding far too serious for a man riding his own fingers.

Before Percival could ask, Lancelot’s free hand was palming his cock through his pants, making him swear. He reached for his underwear, wanting to tug them down and out of the way, wanting to feel Lancelot’s hot body against him, skin to skin, but his hands were once more batted away. He glared up at the man, but Lancelot only pressed the heel of his hand against the base of Percival’s cock and he was helpless to do anything but buck up against that hard touch.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Lancelot wasn’t smiling anymore, his bottom lips pinched between his teeth as a pained expression seemed to twist his face under the mask. Percival jerked up in concern, but it was gone in an instant and then Lancelot was back on him. He pulled his lubed up hand away from behind his back, and Percival nearly fumbled in his eagerness to produce the lube bottle and squeeze more of the gel out on Lancelot’s awaiting palm. The man had the gall to chuckle, and Percival could only glower for a moment before Lancelot was tugging his pants down and wrapping that slick hand around him.

“Jesus…”

“It’s James and you know it,” the man laughed, and Percival was about done with his attitude. He tried to buck his hips to throw him off and get on top again, but Lancelot didn’t budge. Not even an inch. He was made of solid muscle, and Percival stared in surprise.

It was short lived, however, because that was the moment Lancelot decided to use his clean hand to pull his own underwear down.

His tight pants hadn’t belied the size of the bulge filling them, but when Lancelot’s frankly impressive erection failed to sit upright and flopped down with its own weight Percival felt… intimidated wasn’t the right word, and neither was awed, but definitely something along those lines. He was far too focused on Lancelot’s cock to make out the right words to describe it.

As Percival stared dumbly, Lancelot shifted so he could slide his cock against Percival’s hard one, still held in his warm hand.

“Please,” Percival gasped, the word slipping past his lips without his permission.

Lancelot didn’t need repeating, because the moment he had his hand firmly wrapped around the both of them he thrust against Percival with a grunt. Percival’s hands went to Lancelot’s hips, holding them tight enough he could feel his thumbs digging in the man’s Adonis belt. He tried to pull Lancelot close, but to his frustration the man’s thighs were locked tightly around him and he didn’t seem intentioned to relinquish his position.

Percival threw his head back on the pillows and gave a grunt of frustration even as Lancelot picked up his pace, fucking into his hand and making his cock slide deliciously against Percival’s. The pressure of Lancelot’s clenching fingers was perfect, and Percival closed his eyes as he did his best to thrust back against Lancelot, in counterpoint to his movements. The man let out a soft whine, and Percival knew he was doing at least something right.

He wasn’t one to relinquish control, always feeling his skin prickle whenever he was in a position of disadvantage or when he had no power over a situation. With Lancelot, however, the only prickling in his skin was the sweat breaking over his body, making his clothes stick to him and his hands itch to tear them all of like he had Lancelot’s shirt.

As much as he craved that relief, there was another kind of relief waiting for him just over the edge he was barrelling towards.

It was as if Lancelot knew his body’s desires before he could even think about what he wanted. His hand squeezed and loosened around their erections, his thumb always stroking the wet tip of Percival’s cock whenever he got the chance, their movements growing more and more frantic as they themselves grew more and more desperate.

“I’m close,” Lancelot said hoarsely, and Percival groaned at the sound of his voice. “What do you need?”

“Harder,” he demanded, giving a harsh thrust to punctuate his words. Lancelot seemed to get the message and squeezed his hand tighter around them, at the same time lifting his hips off Percival enough to allow for deeper thrusts. It was still far from having control, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and he would take what he got.

It seemed to be enough, however, because the sight of Lancelot all but bouncing on top of him as if trying to keep astride a bucking horse together with the feeling of his hand and the warm weight of him was what pushed Percival over that edge, his eyes falling closed and his mouth open in a loud moan.

The world seemed to fall silent with the way blood was rushing in his ears. The only sound his mind registered was that of Lancelot coming as well, the feeling of come splashing on his shirt and joining his own as unpleasant as the rest of their activities had been enjoyable.

“How am I supposed to get home now?” he groused once he had found his tongue again. Lancelot laughed in short breathless bursts, and Percival felt his own lips twitch even as he scoffed. Damn endorphins.

“You’re the one to speak, after you tore my good shirt apart?” Lancelot replied, his rough voice sending a shiver down Percival’s spine despite the recent orgasm.

“That was your _good_ shirt?”

“And my mask, you’ve ruined that as well.”

“Then let me ruin your handkerchief as well, you bore.”

Lancelot laughed again, and all at once it felt like the whole room erupted into noise again. Filthy, squelching noises that had Percival shudder.

“Please, let’s leave.”

Lancelot noticed his discomfort and nodded his head, shifting off of Percival with a wince. He stood and offered his hand to his fellow agent, but it still glinted with lube in the dim lights and Percival decided not to risk his slippery grip in this particular instance, standing on his own as Lancelot wiped his hand on his ruined shirt.

They tucked themselves back in their trousers, left the room, retrieved their overcoats and slipped out of the manor unnoticed, but only removed their masks once they were safe in their Kingsman cab.

Lancelot looked done in. His hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead, his cheeks still red from the heat gathered under the mask, and his eyes tired. Percival was sure he wasn’t faring much better, and he let his head lean back on his seat, taking in a deep breath.

“I need four showers and a whisky sour,” he mumbled.

“Mmh. Two showers, a Moscow Mule and an Orange Screwdriver. Oh, maybe a Cosmopolitan,” Lancelot raised him, and Percival huffed a small laughter.

They rode in silence for some time, and then a voice came through their earpieces.

_"Percival, Lancelot, report. Do you have the drive?"_

"Yes."

Stirred from his light doze, Percival turned his head in surprise, frowning. He hadn't exactly forgotten about the mission, but at the same time he hadn't noticed Lancelot taking anything with him as they left.

"Where is it?" he asked, and when Lancelot glanced at him sideways he knew he would regret asking.

"Up my arse."

There was a long spurting sound over the comms and a long string of Scottish curses, and then what sounded distinctly like Harry wheezing with laughter.

 _"It's up your arse!"_ he bellowed into the microphone, and then there was the brief sound of a scuffle as Merlin re-appropriated his tech.

 _"This is the last time I'm letting you eat and drink in here,"_ Merlin growled as the man kept guffawing in the background, and Percival let out a long, tired sigh.

So much for the height of professionalism.

“I’m starting to think Galahad broke his leg because someone pushed him down a flight of stairs,” he mumbled grouchily, and Lancelot laughed.

“I wager it was a two story building.”

 _“If you’re done placing your bets… Good job, agents,”_ Merlin said over the comms. _“We’ll be awaiting your return to… retrieve the drive.”_ He didn’t sound too happy about the prospect.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Merlin. I put the drive in a condom beforehand,” Lancelot was quick to reassure him.

 _“Good thinking,”_ replied Merlin, a cackling voice in the background saying, _“Before putting it up your arse!”_ at the same time. _“And it was a moving car,”_ Merlin added, sounding like a man who was about to break a leg with his bare hands. Then, the comms went dead.

There was a moment of silence, and Percival was glad their driver had had the good sense of pulling up the glass between his seat and the back ones.

“So that’s what all that fingering was for?” Percival asked after a while.

“You sound disappointed. Were you hoping I’d let you fuck me?” Lancelot replied, calm as you please.

“No,” Percival said a bit too quickly.

“Mmh.” Lancelot gave a non-committal hum and looked out the window. It was clear he didn’t believe him.

The rest of the ride was quiet, and although he longed for his shower and bed Percival knew they had to report to Merlin right away and hand the data over. That was the only reason why he was waiting outside one of Kingsman’s restrooms for his colleague, his arms crossed against his chest as he leaned against a wall, brooding silently.

When Lancelot emerged from the restroom, his lips went from their usual quirk to a down-turned curve when he caught sight of Percival.

“You know, I’ve been wondering all evening. I’ve had a thumb drive up my arse for most of the night and I’ve yet to figure out what’s crawled up yours.”

Percival’s head snapped towards Lancelot, a glare etched on his features.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve been looking like a sourpuss all evening, and when we absconded to our love cave you manhandled me like a brute-”

“See, this is why!” Percival snapped, his temper boiling over. “This is it! The way you speak, the way you act, even the way you dress! I can’t stand any of it!”

“So you hate me,” Lancelot asked without missing a bit, even though his eyes flashed with hurt.

“I wish I did,” Percival answered.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Percival ran a hand over his face, feeling like tearing his hair off. Instead he growled, and he walked up to Lancelot, jabbing a finger in his chest.

“I _like_ you, you moron! I like a man who acts like he’s a modern Don Juan and makes a fool of himself at every turn, propositioning anyone that happens upon his path and then forgets them the next day!”

That seemed to give Lancelot pause, and he blinked at Percival with tired eyes. “Is that why you’ve been acting like an arsehole? Because you actually like me and can’t stand to think you’d be just another conquest for me?”

Percival’s mouth clicked shut. That had hit too close to home, and Lancelot had noticed.

“And I’m the ridiculous one,” he sighed. “If that’s the case, why have you never accepted my dinner invitation?”

“Because they were never serious,” Percival said immediately, some of the fight taken out of him. “The way you asked always made it clear that dinner wasn’t what you were interested in.”

“Of course it wasn’t! Look at you, Alastair, you’re gorgeous. Any sexually active, man loving person would sell a leg to sleep with you.” He paused, and then added with a smirk, “I bet that’s what happened to Galahad.”

“See? You’re still never serious.” Percival felt dejected and deceived. “I won’t stand here while you make fun of me.”

“Oh, Al, no.” Lancelot took his wrist in his hand, keeping him in place when Percival had tried to take a step back. “It’s just who I am. But that doesn’t mean my word as a gentleman doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

Percival didn’t reply, and Lancelot took a deep breath.

“I fancy you. Quite a lot. I’m a direct person and see no reason to dance around certain issues, especially when they’re as simple as two people liking each other. Whether that leads to just sex or to a relationship. And yes, I like sex,” Lancelot said, squeezing Percival’s wrist to stop him from commenting, the motion reminding him of how it felt to have that same hand wrapped around his hard cock. “I like sex a lot. That doesn’t mean I can’t be faithful, or go without it if someone asks me to. You called me a slut earlier, and I suppose some people may think me one. I don’t mind. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality nor… prolificity. But if that means you can’t take me seriously, then…”

He let go of Percival’s wrist, but the man felt no desire to leave anymore. They stood in silence for a few long minutes, hovering into each other’s personal space. Percival was at a loss for words, and Lancelot seemed to have said his piece.

“I’m.” Percival licked his dry lips, swallowed. Tried again. “I’m sorry.”

He half expected Lancelot to scoff and walk past him, but instead the man met his eye and smiled.

“You’re forgiven.”

“So easily?” he asked, taken aback.

Lancelot seemed to think it over, and then shook his head.

“You’re right, there are a few conditions.” He waved a finger under Percival’s nose and counted, “First, you have to have dinner with me.” Percival nodded, and another finger joined the first. “Second, you must trust that my intentions with you are serious. If they weren’t, I would have stopped asking you out after the first denials, don’t you think? I know my place, boundaries and limits, and I know when to stop. But I had a feeling my feelings weren’t completely one-sided.” Percival blushed, but kept silent. “And third… you have to start calling me James.”

A beat, and then… “You have a deal.”

Lancelot beamed at him and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Splendid! Now let’s go give this to Merlin, and afterwards we can arrange our date.”

“Yes… James.” The name felt foreign on Alastair’s lips, but it was worth it to see the soft way James smiled at him as he took his hand to lead him to Merlin’s office. “But I still need a shower. And we’re _not_ sharing. It’s too soon for that.”

“Aw, Al, you’re no fun!”


	2. shiver with antici... pation

Dinner was nice. As was the dinner after that, and the walk to the park after that, and the visit to the British Museum after that.

True to his word, Lancelot - James had been taking this seriously. He only teased Alastair when he knew he could get away with it without being misunderstood, expressed his feelings plainly, and acted on them with soft kisses and softer words.

Gradually, Alastair forgot why he had ever doubted James in the first place. As the weeks went on their bond strengthened, and Alastair felt more and more foolish about the whole ordeal.

“I know I have apologised, but I’m not sure that will ever convey how sorry I am for ever thinking you could only ever be an unrepentant hedonist...”

“I _am_ an unrepentant hedonist, love.”

“... and a libertine who made a motto out of ‘no strings attached’,” Alastair continued as if he had never been interrupted, like always. “We could have been doing all this a long time ago.”

James took a sip of his wine and smiled. “That’s true, but we wouldn’t have had the fun we’ve had. It’s been lovely to see you go from wary to embarrassed to… contrite, I suppose is what I should call this new phase.”

“Are you writing a book about me?” Alastair asked with a raised eyebrow, pressing the tip of his finger over the few chocolate crumbs on his dessert plate and bringing it to his lips to lick them off.

“Writing has never been my strong suit. I don’t really like sitting still for long periods of time, and I find it hard to focus on words when I could be doing something else.” He tilted his head to the side, and then said, “Although I suppose I should consider it. ‘How to make the silly man you’re enamoured with understand that your intentions are serious, and a hundred tips to keep him once you’ve bagged him’.”

Alastair laughed and shook his head. “You have no problems coming up with words. You may need an editor to fix your titles for you, however. That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Speaking of mouthfuls…”

Just a couple of months prior, Percival would have rolled his eyes at those innuendos. But now Alastair just smiled fondly at his partner and shook his head.

“No, I couldn’t possibly eat another slice of cake. You’re a wonderful cook and I’m gaining weight as it is already.”

“Pity,” James pouted, knowing that was usually enough to guilt people into a second helping of his desserts, but Alastair had always been quite immune to his charms.

“Besides, if I ate anything more I wouldn’t be able to walk to the couch, let alone get home tonight.”

James stood and brought the platter with the beautiful chocolate cake he had baked to his kitchen counter, covering it with a glass bell to keep it from drying.

“Funny you should mention that,” he said as Alastair gathered their dishes and brought them to the sink to rinse. “I was rather hoping you would stay the night, tonight.”

Alastair paused, one plate midway inside the dishwasher.

It wasn’t completely unexpected; they had been taking things slowly, yes, but it wasn’t like they had never expressed a desire for more. Their long dates were enough proof of the seriousness of their relationship, and Alastair would be lying if he said he hadn’t been looking forward to having sex with James again. Properly, this time, without an audience, without restrictions and without a mission. Just each other, to have and enjoy.

Of course, it could also just be an invite to simply sleep over. But the far too casual way in which James was avoiding to look at him gave away that it wasn’t.

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” he said in an equally casual way, threading this new ground.

“Never had a walk of shame?” James teased, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

Alastair haphazardly put the plates in the dishwasher, then walked up to James at the kitchen counter. The man wasn’t even doing anything, just standing there with his back to Alastair, a knowing smirk on his lips when he was spun around.

“I thought you were going to say something along the lines of, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t need clothes’,” Alastair admitted as he placed his hands on the counter on each side of James, looking into his green eyes.

“No, too easy,” James smirked before cupping Alastair’s face and kissing him.

They had shared a lot of kisses. Most of them had been brief pecks, or had at least started with the intention of being brief. Usually they ended up snogging against a front door or just outside the restaurant or pub they had spent their evening at. This kiss, however, was a lot more like the kisses they had shared during their mission. It was a matter of moments before James was pushing his tongue against Alastair’s lips, coaxing him to part them so he could wiggle his way inside.

James kissed like a man starving and Alastair loved it. He moved with finesse despite his eagerness, his tongue curling against Alastair’s palate, his teeth catching his lips and grazing them like he was having a taste of a treat to save for later.

Alastair’s hands went to James’ hips and he leaned in closer, until they were pressed together from chest to knee, even if that meant he had to crane his neck uncomfortably to still reach James’ lips properly, and when the man sucked hard on his tongue Alastair jerked against him and moaned.

James pulled away and smiled. “As much as I’d like you to fuck me on this counter, I think it would be best to move this to the bedroom… I think I’ve mentioned that I pictured our first time on silk sheets, no?”

“It’s not our first time, James,” Alastair pointed out, even as he tilted his head to press his mouth against his lover’s neck, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin there just for the pleasure of feeling the man shiver against him.

“Mmh, that’s unfortunately true. But there are still a lot of firsts we could indulge in on silk sheets…”

“You also mentioned a candlelit dinner, and you forgot the candles,” Alastair scoffed, catching a bit of James’ skin between his teeth to try and get a moan out of him.

“No candles required for what I have in mind today,” James replied with a cheeky wink, his hands travelling to Alastair’s shoulders to push him back a bit. “Come now, to bed, before we change our minds.”

Plates all but forgotten to be dealt with later, Alastair let himself be taken by the hand and followed James to the bedroom.

The man’s house was a far cry from his fashion style, thankfully. Alastair had been to another agent’s home in exactly two occasions, Lancelot’s aside: once, to pay his respect to the previous Percival; the man had been disabled in the line of duty and had thus retired to private life, but Alastair had heard a lot about him and he wanted to introduce himself; and another time he had been invited home by agent Galahad after a particularly taxing mission they had wrapped up blessedly close to the man’s house - and his guest room.

Percival’s house had been a manor, out in the countryside, passed down through the generations to him. It was the kind of house one would expect to see in period pieces, just one Mr Darcy away from the ideal Austen novel location. The man had even had maids and butlers, even though he referred to them as “the help” whom he allowed to live in his "servant quarters". The furnishing had been antique, the style classical and clean, with oil paintings and marble statues and high ceilings and a manicured lawn.

Galahad’s home had turned out to be a surprisingly cluttered two-stories house in Stanhope Mews, dead in the middle of London, bought all the way back in the seventies when his parents had sent him to find work in the town - before Galahad had dropped everything and joined the army, followed by his Kingsman recruitment. His house had been exactly what one would expect from someone trying to pass off as an unassuming old man, with dark heavy furniture and a Victorian like horror vacui - not a single wall devoid of a landscape, a still life or a wooden case filled with old medals. Not even the man’s loo had been safe, every wall covered in shadowboxes full of pinned butterflies, Galahad’s old dog stuffed and mounted on a wall like the creepiest of centrepieces.

Alastair’s own flat was all clear, modern cuts. His walls were white, with only a couple of quite impersonal photographs hanging on his walls. He had a few houseplants that his cleaning lady took care of whenever he was out of town for long periods of time, and a guest room turned dog room for the whippet he had picked for his training. His kitchen was all stainless steel and seldom used, his couch low and white with squared angles, his bedroom big and with a large mirrored wardrobe. He hadn’t gone out of his way to decorate the place, the most lived in corner his reading nook, which was a well loved leather armchair sitting by a large south facing window and a bright lamp for long winter evenings, a low white side table for his current read and a glass of scotch, his black bookshelves full of novels and non-fiction alike just at arm’s reach.

Somehow, James’ home managed to be the opposite of his own. The walls were a muted yellow that irradiated warmth, the furniture wooden but limited to the essentials: where Galahad had dressers upon side tables upon footrests, James had simple yet elegant lines, dark woods and stiff leathers replaced by soft linen curtains and colourful flower vases around the house, with carefully arranged furniture that filled the one-story house in the Wimbledon suburbs with pleasant practicality. The fireplace was clean but clearly well used, the carpets patterned but not tacky, the art hanging on the walls the opposite of an eyesore. There was a dog bed in every room, but James' cocker had greeted Alastair at the door and then obeyed her master when James had told her to relocate to the doghouse in the backyard, where her dinner awaited.

The first time Alastair had been invited over, back when he still could barely stand James in the face of his blatant crush for the man, he had half expected something horrible. Like floor-to-ceiling lava lamps, and bear rugs, and rococo furniture painted over in neon green. Waterbeds and fuzzy toilet seats. _Moquette_. Instead, he had been pleasantly surprised, and now he was a bit ashamed of those early assumptions. Truly, James’ style wasn’t all that bad. It just befitted the countryside rather than the city, and a proper Kingsman agent wouldn’t be caught dead in tweed, unless he got accidentally shot during a fox hunt in the Queen’s own grounds.

Then again, James was anything but what people like Arthur thought a “proper” Kingsman should be.

A “proper” Kingsman agent had no attachments, no relationships, nothing that could hinder the Work.  
A “proper” Kingsman agent devoted himself to a lonely life of saving the world, time and time again.  
A “proper” Kingsman agent never spoke out of turn, never acted out in ways that could squander his name, and never revealed his true feelings.

A “proper” Kingsman agent would never lead his colleague-turned-boyfriend into his own bedroom hand in hand with the intent to fuck them.

James had never cared about being a “proper” Kingsman agent. And right at that moment, Alastair couldn’t even remember why it had been so important to him once upon a time.

He had been a blind fool, because the only thing that mattered was the man in front of him, turning around on the threshold of his bedroom door to meet him halfway in another kiss, as sweet as many they had shared in the past.

“I have… a request,” James murmured, his low voice a rumble in Alastair’s chest, pressed right against his lover’s.

“Should I be concerned?” he asked just as softly, a smile quirking his lips.

James let out a happy laugh, and Alastair found his grin widening.

“Oh, don’t worry my prince, you’ll have your happy ending, I promise.”

That wasn’t as reassuring as Alastair would have liked, but he still hummed and nodded.

“Very well. Ask away, then.”

Obviously, James couldn’t just state what he wanted. Not without leaning in so he could murmur the words right against the shell of Alastair’s ear, his hot breath and gravelly voice making him shiver.

“I would very much like it if you’d let me undress you and look my fill,” he whispered. “And then, I want to worship you like royalty.”

Alastair would lie if he said he didn’t gasp at the words. He turned his head, nudging James back just enough to meet his eyes and exhale, “Really?”

James just gave one of his radiant smiles and rubbed the tips of their noses together tenderly.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting just to have you to my mercy and adore you the way you deserve?” he asked, completely serious despite the mirth in his voice.

Alastair didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know. He had a rough estimate, but it was just that. James had been flirting with him ever since he had been knighted as Percival, a couple of years after his own joining, first by relying how happy he was not to be the rookie anymore and insisting they should stick together, and then by expressing his surprise over Alastair being a couple older than him despite having joined Kingsman later. Alastair hadn’t given into James’ charm, and at first he had been glad when he had spotted the man flirting with just about anyone. It had made him feel like he had made the right choice by refusing the man’s advances. He had noticed James’ behaviour changing slightly at some point in the past, yes, the man turning more serious, growing more mature, but still maintaining that playful air about him and still winning hearts left and right in a manner that seemed to validate Alastair’s thoughts about the seriousness of James’ feelings towards him.

He had never truly ceased to flirt with Alastair, but over time James’ innuendos had become fewer and farther in between, rather turning into dinner invitations and offers to procure theatre tickets to shows James thought he might enjoy. The shift had been gradual but Alastair was almost sure he could pinpoint it beginning after a mission about three years prior, that had nearly ended with them meeting a sad demise while holed up in an abandoned flat in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

They had been sitting on the dirty floor, their backs against opposing walls so they could take turns checking out the windows they were squatting under, rifles in hand, waiting to see if the rebellious group they had been tasked with eliminating to maintain the region’s fragile peace had found their hideout or not. James had been staring at him, his eyes far more serious than Alastair had ever seen them before, even with his smile still in place. _Have dinner with me_ , he had said, and after a moment of thought Alastair had denied him.

James was still staring at him in the present, expectantly awaiting his reply. Alastair wouldn’t deny him ever again.

“I don’t deserve that. I’ve been a fool, and a coward, and I’ve put us through years of useless pining when we could have been doing this the whole time because-” he hesitated, then admitted, “because I was afraid of being hurt. Of being used and thrown away, knowing that my crush on you was dangerous enough as it was, and that if I ever gave in into your avances I would inevitably, completely fall for you. That scared me more than I can convey.”

James was silent for a moment, a thoughtful look passing behind his eyes, dark green in the room’s dim lighting; then it passed, and he smiled at Alastair.

“And here I thought you just enjoyed being chased…” he teased, although not unkindly. “Have you?”

Alastair blinked.

“Have I what?” he asked, confused.

James’ smile was so loving that Alastair’s heart missed a beat.

“Fallen for me. Inevitably and completely.” It was incredible how he managed to sound both like he was joking and dead serious at the same time.

Alastair cleared his throat to keep himself from blurting out the “yes” sitting heavily on his tongue.

“It’s still early to say,” he replied instead, grateful when James didn’t press the issue.

“Okay, my dear. I can and I will get that out of you when you’ll be ready,” he said, causing Alastair to huff a soft laugh. “For now… I think I’ve mentioned some worshipping, yes?”

“I think I may recall something along those lines, yes,” Alastair huffed in amusement, the sound catching in his throat when James put his hands on him.

The man’s strong fingers travelled up from his hands to his wrists, up his arms with an appreciative hum, across his shoulders with a squeeze to them, and then down his chest and to the hem of the jumper he had picked for the evening. It was a blue cashmere jumper, and James seemed to appreciate its softness because his hands stopped at Alastair’s waist, James leaned in to press his face against his chest, nuzzling his sternum through the wool.

“Jumpers make you look cuddly… I’ve been dying to do this all night.”

“Ridiculous man,” Alastair scoffed, but his voice was soft and his eyes softer still. James looked up at him and smiled, before leaning up to meet his lips again.

The kiss was almost chaste, with James’ tongue gently tapping at Alastair’s lips only to retreat again, time and time again, until Alastair took matters into his own hands with a frustrated growl. He put one hand on James’ hip, the other on the back of his neck, carding through his short hair and tugging on it until he could tilt James’ head just so, and plunge his tongue into the man’s mouth demandingly.

James was a couple of inches shorter than Alastair, and that made some primal part in the recesses of his mind rear its head, like that small detail was enough to establish his dominance on the other man. As if James Spencer was the kind of man who relinquished dominance without standing his ground or outright challenging all and any claim laid his way.

The kiss, of course, was no different: James bit down hard on Alastair’s bottom lip, causing him to yelp in surprise and jerk his head away, only to find his lip was still held carefully between James’ white teeth, exposed by his smile.

“I thought,” James said, his voice low and his eyes dark, his words slow and careful as not to let go of Alastair just yet, “that I’d asked you to lay down and let me adore you some.”

Alastair’s breath hitched in his throat and he felt frozen in place, pinned by those dark green eyes.

“You did,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Apologies.”

Something flashed behind James’ eyes, but it was gone before Alastair could identify what emotion it might be.

“No need for apologies,” James said, his tone far too placating to actually settle Alastair’s sudden nerves. It felt ominous, like the man would end the sentence with a _not yet, at least_.

Alastair lifted his arms when James tugged at the hem of his jumper and pulled it all the way over his head, grumbling when the garment was thrown unceremoniously on a nearby armchair. Alastair had opted for a simple white shirt to wear underneath, and James made quick work of the buttons.

“Not that you don’t look ravishing, my dear, but you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to see you bared, not a scrap of clothes on you,” the man said matter of factly, despite the way his hands betrayed his eagerness.

He untucked Alastair’s shirt from his dark grey slacks, then let his hands travel back up along the well defined muscles of Alastair’s abdomen.

He wasn’t as solidly built as James was; James’ speciality was hand to hand combat and close range fighting. His body was a powerhouse under his ridiculously colourful suits, and the first time Alastair had seen him fight he had been reminded of a venomous snake, advertising its own lethality with bright flashes of colour. It had been on one of Alastair’s first missions, and he still retained that impression years later, especially after being trapped so easily under all that strength during the faithful masquerade ball they had attended together.

By comparison, Alastair felt inadequate. His speciality was stealth and assassination, infiltration and extraction. He was deadly with a knife, even more so with a rifle. He could land a head shot a hundred feet away with a handgun, and with the right equipment he could kill a man a mile away. He still kept up his Kingsman training, of course, never really stopped except for when he was injured, but he just wasn’t built for mass like James was. It was why when he had a mission that required back-up his partners usually ended up being either Lancelot or Galahad.

He would have felt more self-conscious about it if James didn’t look like he was unwrapping an early Christmas gift while pushing his shirt off his body. His eyes roamed Alastair’s shoulders, his waist, the lean muscles of his arms and the tendons on his neck. He looked like he was holding himself back from touching, too, but Alastair didn’t question him. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure whether he would have managed to speak without making a fool of himself.

James tossed the shirt back with the jumper and Alastair watched as his hands travelled south to unclasp his belt, his fingers digging in the waistband of his slacks to find the button on the inner side, then back out to undo the outer one and push the zipper down. Alastair decidedly didn’t let out a little gasp when James pushed his trousers down and followed them on the way to his knees. The man undid the laces of his shoes and put them aside, then helped him step out of his trousers, and finally peeled his socks off of Alastair’s calves.

His slips were the only thing left between him and James’ eyes, but when the man stood again he didn’t yet move to take them off. Nevertheless, Alastair’s cock twitched in interest with the way James ran his hands up his body, starting with a hand on each calf, then up along thighs, hips and sides until he was pressing his hands against this chest. His thumbs drew circles through the sparse dark hair there but his palms pressed down on his nipples, pebbled in the chilly room.

“You’re gorgeous,” James sighed dreamily, his eyes roaming Alastair’s body a moment longer before he allowed their gazes to meet again. “On the bed, now, if you please.”

Alastair couldn’t help but obey, shivering at the way James’ voice seemed to be able to make his very core rumble in time with its low timbre. He doesn’t take his slips off, deciding that James should do all the work like he seems insistent on doing, and sat on the bed without doubts.

He did have a request, however.

“You’re going to undress as well, I hope?” he said casually, the question not really requiring an answer as he raised an expectant eyebrow at the man.

James’ smirk was all the answer he needed.

“Of course, I would never deny you of the handsome sight I make,” he preened, his smile widening. “Especially since you seem so eager to see it.”

Alastair rolled his eyes a bit, but waved a hand in a gracious by your leave gesture.

“Go on, then,” he said with a smirk.

Surprisingly, James didn’t make much of a show out of undressing himself. During dinner he had been wearing a rather casual emerald green blazer that helped bring out his eyes, but that had been left draped on the back of his chair after a couple of glasses of wine - not enough to get him anywhere near drunk, barely tipsy even, but enough to warm him up. The bottle they had shared had been a nice way to loosen them both up, and it had been particularly nice when James had undone the first couple of buttons of his shirt so his chest was peeking from the vee of fabric, and even more so when he had rolled his sleeves up to reveal his strong forearms. That alone had been enough to tempt Alastair in losing his jumper, but that wouldn’t have been dignified.

Once more, James was quick with the buttons, working each one free with practised ease. His shirt came off in a whisper of cotton, and Alastair’s mouth went dry at the sight of James’ powerful body slowly being revealed to him.

The hairs on his body seemed a bit darker than the hair on his head, a bit thicker than Alastair’s own but not by much. His shoulders and chest were wider than Alastair’s, too, but his torso went down in one hard line, unlike Galahad’s tapered waist and Percival’s slightly narrowed hips. James was truly beautiful, his body less lean than Alastair’s, with bigger yet less well defined muscles just under a deceptively soft layer of fat. It wasn’t a pudge, by all means; Alastair remembered just how hard and strong those abdominals were under his hands the last time he had had the pleasure of touching James.

His pectorals were more defined than his stomach, the hair on them accentuating the curve of the muscles, but anyone who doubted James’ strength only had to look at his arms and hips to be set to rights. Alastair had once seen James take a man by the neck and lift him a few inches in the air only to slam him in the ground a moment later, and he had biceps to match that strength. His hip bones were lined by the shallow grooves of his Adonis’ belt, disappearing in the pair of dark jeans he was still wearing like they were beckoning Alastair to follow them down with lips and tongue. And oh, wasn’t that a nice thought?

Before the idea could take a more concrete form, Alastair’s mind was wiped clean by the sight of James undoing his jeans and tugging them down to reveal he was wearing nothing underneath. Alastair could feel his mouth water even as James bent in half to tug his shoes and socks off, his flushed face turning an even darker shade of pink when James straightened again to stand there in all his naked glory.

The rush of adrenaline at finally seeing all of James bared in front of him almost made Alastair stand up to gather the man in his arms and snog him senseless, but he tightened his fists in the bedspread he was sitting on and resisted the urge with gritted teeth.

His eyes travelled from James’ hips to his cock, half hard and flushed even though it didn’t manage to stand up to attention, although it didn’t seem as big as he remembered. Perhaps it had been the proximity, but as he wondered about his faulty perceptions, James wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked it to full mast. To Alastair’s astonishment, it seemed to become bigger under James’ ministrations, and the man chuckled in amusement.

“I’m a bit of a grower,” he said, prompting Alastair to look into meeting his eye. “It makes it uncomfortable to get an erection in Kingsman suits since they’re a close fit to my… resting size,” he added with a smirk.

Alastair couldn’t help but snort, and he blinked a few times to look back at where James was touching himself. It was a shame that he hadn’t yet gotten a chance to do the same himself, and so Alastair reached out with a hand, silently requesting James to get closer. James let go of his cock and took the few steps separating them, the movement drawing Alastair’s eye to the muscles of James’ strong thighs, shifting under his skin.

He reached out with one hand to touch, but as he was about to make contact James put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him down on the bed.

“On the bed,” he said, licking his lips, and Alastair did his level best not to scramble into position at the centre of the bed.

His skin felt on fire, and he needed James to touch him again, just like he needed to touch James.

The man stood at the foot of the bed and eyed him appreciatively, a small smile on his lips. Then, James climbed on the bed on all fours and all but prowled up along Alastair’s body, until he was close enough to kiss him.

Alastair sighed in the contact, deep yet unhurried, and reached to run his fingers in James’ hair. James, however, seemed to have another idea. He took Alastair’s wrists and pinned him down on the mattress, breaking the kiss so he could look into the man’s wide eyes.

“You see, Al, I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long, long time… ever since I first saw you and decided I would bed you, I have imagined our first time together. Strange, isn’t it, how it ended up being an impromptu shag on some pillow during an orgy, like in the most decadent of Victorian novels?” He didn’t need to say the name Oscar Wilde for Alastair to know what kind of novels James had in mind. “But, that’s only happened because you kept denying me for so long, my darling. You said so yourself! We pined and waited and hoped… when it could have been all so simply settled with you accepting to have dinner with me.”

“I know, that’s why I’ve apologised…” Alastair started, but James silenced him with a gentle press of his lips.

“No, no, darling. No apologies needed, like I said…” James said, his voice soothing. “But since I’ve begged you to go out with me more times than I can count, I think it’s only fair to make you beg for me to make you come.”

Alastair couldn’t help but gasp at those words, both terrifying and arousing at once. Terrifying because he had no clue what to expect; arousing because, of course, he trusted James with his life, and that implicitly meant that he trusted him with his cock, too.

“For how long?” he asked, his voice steadier than he would have hoped for.

James seemed to consider the question, tilting his head to the side, but after a moment of reflection he shrugged.

“For however long I deem appropriate,” he said, smiling candidly, and Alastair was sure he was going to die.

He tried to squirm, but just like when they were at the party during their last mission together he couldn’t even get James to budge. The only difference was that this time his hands were pinned down as well, and no matter how he struggled, he just couldn’t move. When he felt himself get harder in his pants, he decided not to think too much about the reasons behind the sentiment. Instead, he let out a low sound in the back of his throat, and James chuckled against the skin of his neck.

“Don’t worry, love, I’m not going to let you suffer too long. I’m only human, and it would be as much a torture for me as it would be for you,” he promised.

That did help relax Alastair a bit, and when James’ lips travelled down to his neck he sighed at the feeling and closed his eyes.

“I had been hoping to touch you as well,” he said, a soft sound escaping him as James’ teeth pinched his skin. He moaned when he felt James’ trace the indentation left by his teeth with his tongue, only to then start sucking hard on the skin.

James pulled back with a faint _pop_ and a chuckle.

“Maybe later, if you behave,” he said with a teasing wink that had Alastair sighing.

Honestly, Alastair hadn’t given too much weight to James’ words. Sure, he would tease for a while, but he was a child at heart. He would get impatient and get back on his tracks sooner rather than later.

Half an hour later, Alastair was biting onto the pillow under his head.

James had done nothing more than trace Alastair’s collarbone and chest with a trail of kisses and bites, occasionally stopping to place a mark on whatever spot caught his fancy.

Alastair had been a fool to think that a professional spy, trained in torture techniques just as well as he was, wouldn’t have the patience to deliver on his threats. Promises, depending on your point of view.

“James… God…” Alastair panted, his chest heaving under the other man’s mouth.

“Mmh?” James called, almost absent mindedly. His erection had flagged against Alastair’s own, still trapped inside his underwear and steadily leaking precome.

“Please, can’t you just…” he started, but James chose that moment to lean down and catch a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard on the erect nub. “Fuck!”

He kept it up for a few moments before he pulled off with another tiny _pop_.

“Am I starting to break you, my dear?” he asked, and it sounded a lot like a challenge.

Alastair grunted and didn’t reply, which he ended up regretting when James resumed his previous ministrations, sucking on his nipple for a while and then nipping repeatedly on it, sending electric jolts of pleasure down Alastair’s spine that made him swear through clenched teeth.

James kept alternating between small bites and hard sucks, his hot mouth driving Alastair crazy when it was on him, and even crazier when he pulled away, the cold air brutal on the hyper-sensitised skin.

James sat back and looked down at Alastair. For a moment, Alastair was overly aware of their points of contact - his groin pressed tight against James’ own and the fingers still tight around his wrists, the skin prickling and sweating after so long.

Just as Alastair thought James would give in, the man leaned back down to torture his other nipple in the same way he had worked over the other, and Alastair let out a choked sound far too close to a sob for his own liking.

He was completely trapped under the other man, unable to move away from that delicious torture, and he was loving it.

It took him a while before he realised he was still making noises, but when his ears managed to make them out past the roaring of blood in them, he realised he was babbling a seemingly endless string of “please” and “James”.

The man in question pulled back from his chest and sat back to admire his handy-work - a mess of scattered love bites, teeth marks, and Alastair’s puffy red nipples, still erect and sensitive in the cold air.

“What a beautiful picture you make,” James sighed dreamily. “But I think there’s something missing…”

“No, no, James, please, please, touch me,” Alastair gasped at those words, afraid the torture would resume. But James’ smile was kind, and he leaned in to press their mouths together in a soft kiss.

“Don’t worry, darling, you’ve more than deserved what’s coming next,” he said, as if that wasn’t ominous at all.

Alastair whimpered, but James made a soft soothing _shhh_ ing sound and let go of one wrist to stroke his hair away from Alastair’s damp forehead.

“I’m going to let you go now. Keep your hands here where I put them, alright?” he said, and Alastair couldn’t even frown at being talked to as if he were a naughty child. All he could manage was a nod, his eyes falling closed.

“Good man,” James chuckled, releasing Alastair’s other wrist. “Maybe I’ve gone a bit overboard,” he said with the tone of someone who didn’t regret any of his life choices.

James shifted and moved down Alastair’s body, his lips trailing kisses down the man’s chest. When he paused to tease at his belly button with his teeth and tongue, Alastair whimpered and begged.

“Don’t stop, please…”

“I wasn’t going to,” James chuckled, somehow managing not to sound mocking. “Don’t worry. I’ll give back as good as I got,” he promised

Alastair couldn’t exactly not worry, but there wasn’t much he could do, either. His muscles felt like they were made of gelatine, his bones completely vanished. He could only lay there as James tugged his pants down, lifting his legs with ease and spreading them to settle between Alastair’s knees. He missed the weight of the man on him, but he could only let out a long sigh as James wrapped a hand around his straining cock.

“You deserve to come, my prince. What do you want?” James asked, stroking him slowly. It already felt like more than he could handle.

“Your mouth,” Alastair said, his voice shaky. “I want to see if I can get you to shut up at least when you’re sucking me off.” A pause. “Please.”

James laughed and shook his head.

“So well behaved… did I manage to train you?” he asked, and Alastair opened his eyes to frown down at him, the effect softened by the way they were dazed and unfocused with arousal.

“Please,” he asked again, but this time Alastair’s voice was demanding and James smirked.

“As you wish, my love,” he said lightly, the arousal in his eyes underlined with amusement.

And then all the air left Alastair’s lungs, because James pressed his lips to the head of his cock and relentlessly sucked all of him in his mouth. The sound Alastair let out could only be described as wrecked as his head fell back on the pillow, damp with sweat after so long spent writhing on it.

Talking or sucking cock, James’ mouth should have been illegal.

The way he managed to go down on Alastair without a moment’s hesitation or preparation left him weak to his core, and when James’ lips tightened around him Alastair knew he wasn’t going to last. Not after all that time spent at James’ mercy, not when he could see and feel his aching cock disappearing between the man’s lips, into his hot mouth, over and over again as he bobbed his head. The wet noises he made were obscene, and Alastair could feel his body trembling after only a few minutes.

“Fuck… please, James, please,” he begged desperately. James hummed in the back of his throat and took Alastair down to the root, swallowing around him, his hand snaking down to tug at his balls.

Alastair bit down on a curse and arched his back, a rush of heat going down his spine and to his groin, not even bothering to pool there for some build up before he was choking on James’ name and coming down his throat.

Despite the little warning, James didn’t seem surprised and took it in stride, pulling back just enough to easily swallow down every last drop of Alastair’s come, leaving the man panting and moaning softly between breaths.

“Fuck,” was all Alastair managed, his face flushed a deep red as he looked in astonishment at James.

Sure, all Kingsman operatives had their blood drawn and analysed regularly for safety reasons and they were both clean, but they had never discussed that kind of thing and Alastair hadn’t expected James to just swallow. And look so smug about it, too.

“Worth the wait?” James asked, looking up at Alastair with a huge grin on his face as he pressed a kiss to the man’s sharp hip bone.

“Come here,” Alastair demanded, grabbing James by the shoulders and pulling him up until he could kiss him. It was weird, tasting himself inside the other man’s mouth, but Alastair didn’t quite mind it. “I want to make you come, too,” he said between breathless kisses, still panting.

“I don’t think I’ll last long,” James admitted with a shaky chuckle. “You truly were amazing, Al, you were so beautiful… so breathtaking…”

Alastair sighed against James’ lips and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Flattery had never done much for him, but he liked to know what James thought about him, how he felt about his body and about the things he said and did.

Maybe it was just like the man had said teasingly a few hours earlier, like he himself had said. He _was_ falling for James. Inevitably, completely, utterly in love.

“What do you want, James?” Alastair breathed against his lover’s lips, biting down gently on his bottom lip. “Anything…”

James seemed to shudder at the words, and Alastair could feel his hard, wet cock pressed against his flank. He wondered when exactly James had gotten hard again, but whenever that had been, it must have felt like an awfully long time from the way he was shaking minutely, like he was doing his best to keep himself in check.

“I want one of us to be inside of the other,” James said without hesitation. “But… I think that’s not going to happen tonight,” he amended with another breathless chuckle as he tried to kiss Alastair back while talking.

He was so wound up, Alastair was sure he would come with the lightest touch. He decided to put that theory to the test.

Alastair reached down to take James’ cock in his hand, curving his fingers around the hot flesh and pressing it down against his side, rocking his hips up against the pulsing length. James let out a strangled moan and rocked his hips back against him.

They fell into a sloppy rhythm, James’ hips thrusting frantically against Alastair’s while his own rocked tiredly up against the other man, his fingers massaging the throbbing erection and teasing the head with his thumb whenever he could. James was leaking enough to make sure the friction wasn’t too dry, and before long he was burying his face against Alastair’s neck and letting out a sound not unlike a sob as he came on Alastair’s stomach.

With anyone else, Alastair would’ve been put off. With James, he let the man thrust against him until his hips came to a natural halt, and he let the man’s come paint his skin white, even as it pooled in his navel and leaked down to his thigh following the crease of his hip. He would need cleaning up, but he didn’t mind delaying it in favour of kissing James when his lips turned to seek his own.

“That wasn’t much,” Alastair tried to apologise between lazy kisses, but James let out a displeased noise.

“That was amazing, my dear. You were perfect. Seeing you like that… God, I don’t know how I managed not to come just by that,” James admitted.

Alastair was too tired to even blush, but he still squirmed a bit in embarrassment.

“I’m filthy,” he said, trying to deflect the emotion, and James lifted himself up on shaky arms to open the drawer of his bedside table and pull out a package of wet wipes.

“You’re gorgeous,” he replied. James used a few to clean Alastair’s stomach and thigh, then wiped the man’s hand before pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm.

Alastair wasn’t sure what to say, so as soon as James had pulled the covers out from under them and over their bodies, Alastair pressed himself close to the man and wrapped his arms around him to hide his face against his chest. They laid there for a while, side by side, breathing together. James’ hand traced random patterns at the base of Alastair’s spine, making him shiver.

“That was… good. Cruel, but good,” he said, after a few long moments of silence.

“Mmh. I’m glad you liked it,” James replied, smiling, without opening his eyes.

Another bout of silence passed, so long that James was nearly asleep by the time Alastair spoke again.

“But next time, I’m getting you back for this.”

Neither of them imagined the smile the other sported as they fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> As I looked for a quote to use as a title with the words "falling, catching" I found [this beautiful piece of music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHBa2ANs0fo), and I thought I'd share it with you readers.
> 
> If you got all the way to the end, thank you very much!! I hope you liked my first attempt at Percilot. Please, feel free to leave a comment to let me know what you thought of this story if you'd be so inclined! It would make my day!


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